


847

by JDSampson



Series: Counting Kisses [3]
Category: Project Blue Book (TV)
Genre: Car Sex, Emotional Baggage, M/M, Slash, mid-relationship
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-05-29
Packaged: 2020-03-26 15:22:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19008511
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JDSampson/pseuds/JDSampson
Summary: In the previous story, Allen declared that 847 (the number of kisses since the first kiss) is the magic number required to move their relationship to a more intimate level. Of course, he said that when they weren't even close to that number. . . but now. . .





	847

847

“Doc, enough with the pictures already. Let’s go.” Quinn threw his cigarette butt into the dirt then crushed it with the toe of his shoe. He had the trunk of the car open and was impatiently waiting for Allen to stop shooting pictures of absolutely nothing in the absolutely empty sky. He was hungry and the nearest diner was a good hour away.

“I wanted to be sure I had all the angles covered,” Allen said, returning to the car.

“It was a hoax, Doc, there’s nothing to cover.” Quinn waved his hand toward the open trunk. Allen got the message. He put the camera in the back then closed the trunk.

When he turned around, Quinn was right there in his space and it startled him. That little reaction brought a soft, crooked smile to Quinn’s lips. He didn’t need a mirror to know it was there. He could feel it; the lift in his cheeks, the squint in his eyes, the widening of his lips.

In his own mind, he called it the ‘stupid, lovesick’ look. Totally dumb. Totally irrational. Totally not what a man of his age, his place in life, his background, should be exhibiting but hell, sometimes things just went the way they went.

 “You did good today.” Quinn said, pressing Allen back against the closed trunk, hands moving up and down the older man’s arms. “You kept it together and you got Riley to admit that he’d planned the whole thing.”

“I thought he got to you,” Allen said with a bit of the leftover fear still in his voice.

“I know and I’m sorry about that, I didn’t have time to you fill you in before the whole town showed up. But like I said, you did good.” Michael leaned in and their lips met; warm and welcome. “I promise I won’t scare you like that again.” He went in for another kiss, but Allen’s hands came up between them holding him off.

Quinn waited it out a second for Allen to say something or just take a breath before continuing but when he tried to lean in again, the hands held him back.

He laughed a bit under his breath. “Now you’re going to punish me for scaring you? I said I’m sorry.”

“I’m not punishing you, but yes, you should be sorry. You did scare me.” Allen turned his bracing hands into hands that fixed Quinn’s tie and unnecessarily fussed with the tips of his collar. “It’s what you said. We’re done here and we should get going.”

“Okay.” Michael leaned in again and this time Allen sidestepped leaving Quinn kissing nothing but air.

“Why are you being weird?”

“I’m not weird. This is not weird.” Allen opened the car door, took off his overcoat and tossed it on the back seat. “We have to be careful; you know. If someone should see us. . . “

 “You’re kidding? This is the one thing I love about these rural sightings, there’s no one around for miles.” Quinn circled the car to join him on the driver’s side. “The only eyeballs eying us belong to raccoons and rabbits and they’re not going to tell.”

“We can’t be sure of that.” Allen moved again putting the actual car between them.

“That raccoons and rabbits might rat us out? Yes, I’m pretty sure about that. What is going on with you?” And when Allen countered one more time, the penny dropped. “What number was that?”

“Number?” Allen took his notebook out of his pocket and began writing with singular focus.

“Number,” Quinn repeated as he slowly came around the front of the car. “It was 846, wasn’t it?”

“I don’t remember.”

“Oh please, you remember every number you’ve ever encountered in your life. What was your first phone number?”

“Woodlawn 6-2300.” Damn! He couldn’t help himself.

“First license plate number?”

“WP-743.” Dang it! Caught again.

Quinn stepped closer. “How many times have we kissed?” He held his breath waiting for Allen to say it. Say the number he’d be waiting for but had given up hope they’d ever hit it.

Allen huffed out a breath, stuffed his notebook back in his pocket and blurted out, “Eight hundred and forty-six.”

“Meaning,” Quinn took another step forward. “One more and we’ve hit the magic number.”

“It’s not a magic number,” Allen replied like a petulant child.

“It’s SOO totally magic to me,” Quinn replied, a bit too pleased and full of himself. And why not? He’d been patient. He had let Allen set the pace and the rules because this was all so new to him. And what had he gotten in return? Months of cold showers and hours of imaginary piles of paperwork just to keep his sanity after so many unfulfilled make-out sessions.

Never in his life had Quinn had such a hard time getting past the petting stage with any partner – male or female. Then along comes the very persnickety, very factual, very married professor who shouldn’t even be interesting enough to be a blip on this Captain’s radar and suddenly, it’s all he wants in life. This man, in his bed, touching him in ways he hadn’t been touched in a very long time.

Strike that. Knowing what he knew about Hynek, any adventures in bed were likely to be like NOTHING Quinn had ever felt before.

“So, 847. You’re right, this should be a special occasion. What say we go to a nice restaurant, have a steak and some wine, maybe grab another bottle to go. Expensive hotel instead of the cheap motels we usually frequent and . . . “

Allen wasn’t with him on this. Quinn squinted and examined every nuisance of his partner’s expression, the tight lips, the strained neck, eyes blinking too many times behind the lenses. “You don’t want to get to 847,” he guessed.

“It’s not that I don’t want to,” Allen stuttered. “It’s just that. . .” He ended the thought with some indistinct hand movements and a hard swallow.

Scared.

God damn it.

Quinn backed up a few feet. “Doc, if you’re not ready, it’s fine.” It wasn’t but what was he going to say? I’m disappointed that you led me on? Sure, sound like a teenage girl, why not? “Forget the whole counting thing. It’s not important.”

“I can’t forget it because it is important – to you, or you wouldn’t have remembered the number. 847 means something to you.”

“It doesn’t,” Quinn tried not to sound angry, but he was feeling a little angry. No, maybe frustrated was a better word. “One more kiss or one less kiss, it doesn’t change anything.”

“But it does!” Allen insisted flapping his arms like he was trying to take flight. “That was the number. You asked me all those months ago on the phone and I told you that was the number. I can’t just change it now.”

Oh boy. “Of course you can. Make up a new number. Let’s shoot for an even thousand.”

“That would be like saying as of this moment, the square root of 121 is now 13 instead of 11. It’s not right. You can’t just change the order of things.”

Quinn went for another cigarette. He lit it, used the hit to calm his slowly fraying nerves and stared up into the sky for answers. Patience. “I know,” he said gently. “That your mind works differently than (he was going to say ‘mine’ but went with) pretty much anyone else in this world. You thrive on facts and order and scientific truths. So, I get it, intellectually. But here’s the thing; if you can’t change the number and you’re not ready to go beyond that number, we’re at an impasse. Hands off. Well, lips off until such time as you feel ready to move forward.”

“That’s true.”

“Super,” Quinn said sarcastically. “Okay, let’s go then. And we’ll be getting separate rooms when we get to the motel.” He walked around to the driver’s side of the car and this time it was Allen who did the chasing.

“Michael!”

“Try Captain and I might stop walking.”

“Fine, Captain!” Allen huffed out the word like a teen finally agreeing to take out the trash. “You’re right. I made a promise and I intend to keep it, so let’s just get this over with.” He closed the gap between them intent on a kiss, but Quinn brought his hands up and pushed back before any contact was made.

“No siree, Bob. This is not a ‘get it over with’ moment. I have been looking forward to this day and I am not about to let you rush into it and then panic because of what comes next. You have to want this as much as I want you.”

“It,” Allen corrected.

“It?”

“I have to want it as much as you want it. It. Not You. You said, ‘want _you_ ’.”

Quinn took a drag on his cigarette as he shook his head in a series of tiny no, no, no, nods. “When you’re aggravating me like this, I have to wonder if you really can’t help yourself or if you’re trying to drive a wedge between us.”

“Why would I do that?”

“So that. . . “ To hell with it. Quinn closed the space between them in the blink of an eye, grabbed Allen’s face in both hands and kissed him hard on the mouth.

“847. Now what are you going to do?”

 

Allen had often heard the expression “blow your mind” but until that moment, he’d never actually had a mind-blowing experience. This was one of those but for all the wrong reasons. There were all these thoughts in his head that he wanted to express but every time he tried, they came out mangled and wrong and highly annoying to Quinn which was the last thing he wanted to do.

847

Now what ARE you going to do? He really didn’t know. Not because of doubts or concerns – he really didn’t know!

“What am I supposed to do? Knock you to the ground and have intercourse with you?”

Quinn’s face went as blank as Allen had ever seen it. He blinked at him, opened his mouth to speak, paused, then a single word. “Intercourse?”

Proper word for it, what the hell was the problem?

“You really don’t have a clue.” Quinn opened the driver’s side door and climbed into the car. “Let’s go. Come on.”

And now he was mad. Why was he mad?

Allen got into the passenger seat and barely got his door closed before Quinn hit the gas and gunned the car over the bumpy non-road to get to the actual road.

All this over a stupid number. A number that should be easily tossed aside as suggested, so why couldn’t he?

The same reason he couldn’t leave the milk in the fridge with the label turned the wrong way. The same reason he couldn’t go to bed without writing something – anything in his journal. The same reason he’d sit up all night in his study trying to find the answer to whatever question had plagued him that day.

As Quinn had pointed out, it was just the way his mind worked. And even though there were plenty of times when he wished he could shut it off and let it be, there was comfort in knowing that certain things would always be as they were.

Like his relationship with Michael Quinn from 1 through 846.

Now it was all going to change. Maybe for the better but maybe not. He himself had assigned this goal marker and now decisions had to be made. Go forward or go back. There was no scenario that allowed them to keep the status quo.

That made him very sad and very quiet and then it began to rain.

“Perfect,” Quinn muttered, his first and only word in the past half hour.

It was dark now with a bit of a moon helping illuminate the woods beyond the car’s headlights. Allen hadn’t been keeping track, but his natural sense of location in space told him they were still miles from anything even close to a town.

And then there was a creature in the road.

The townsfolk would say it was the Lizard Man on the hunt for his next victim.

It was a deer – literally – caught in the headlights. Allen yelled for Quinn to stop as he braced himself with a hand to the dashboard.

It was an unnecessary yelp because the Captain was already cranking the steering wheel to avoid the collision. And avoid they did but the sudden shift in inertia, coupled with the slick road, sent the car careening to the right. Quinn, like the sharp pilot he was, tried to counter but that sent the car fishtailing and suddenly there was a large tree looming in front of them.

Quinn slammed on the brakes which threw him forward into the horn. Allen was also jolted from his seat, but his earlier safety measures kept him from going through the windshield.

The equal and opposite reaction kicked in a second later and they were both catapulted backward against the seat as the car also settled in its final, safe, position.

The deer, still in but not caught in the headlights, wandered toward them. Laughed at their stupidity then ran off.

At least that’s what it seemed like.

 “Are you hurt?” Allen asked. “You hit the steering wheel pretty hard.”

“Probably feel it in the ribs in the morning but right now all I feel is pissed. You?”

“I’m fine.”

“Fine.”

A deep breath to steady his nerves. Car into gear. Clutch. Gas. Go.

No go.

The tires made a whining sound as they spun ineffectually. Stuck in the mud.

“Can this day get any worse?” Quinn slammed his hands on the wheel and let out a primal growl.

“I think we’re stuck,” said Allen and the look he got from Quinn was not one he ever wanted to see again. “Take the wheel.” Quinn shoved open his car door and climbed out into the rain.

He surveyed the situation then went to the back of the car to push. “Try again!”

Allen tried but the car said nope. Still, they tried two more times then Quinn gave up.

He yanked open the driver’s side door and said, “get in the back.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m standing out here getting soaked while you’re asking questions. Please, hurry up and get into the back.”

Not wanting to push him any further, Allen got out, opened the back door and climbed in quick enough to only get a little wet.

Quinn climbed into the front seat. He was soaked and muddy. “We’re stuck,” he declared. “So find some way to amuse yourself back there because there’s nothing to be done until morning. Then, I’ll walk into town for help.”

“Town could be miles away.”

“That’s why you’ll stay here and flag down the first car that comes by. If I’m lucky – which is unlikely – I won’t have to walk far before you can pick me up.”

“There has to be a better—”

Quinn held his hand up for Allen to stop. “We haven’t seen a single car go by in the past half hour. Face it, we’re here for the night.” Quinn stripped off his tie, then went to work on his shirt buttons.

“What are you doing?”

“Getting out of these wet clothes!” Quinn snapped back.

“I’d sleep easier if you weren’t mad at me.”

“I’m not mad at you. I was already tired and hungry. Now I’m also cold and wet.”

From the sounds and movement, Allen hypothesized that Quinn was taking off his shoes. He saw the shirt come off and the acrobatics after that suggested that he was peeling off his pants as well.

Allen did a few acrobatics of his own, sliding over so he could pull down part of the backseat. This gave him access to the trunk. He found the items he wanted, replaced the seat then hung over the front seat to look at Quinn who was laying down on his back. There was just enough moonlight to see that he was in a t-shirt and boxers. Allen unfurled a blanket over him then gave him the apple and the thermos he’d fished out of the lunch box.

“Coffee’s probably cold and an apple isn’t a proper dinner, but it’ll take the edge off.”

“Thank you,” Quinn said. “And I’m really not mad at you. I just find you frustrating sometimes. I imagine you feel the same about me.”

True enough but not in the same way. Allen’s frustrations with the young pilot were usually centered on his wish to see Quinn be the man he knew him to be. The forthright, honest, caring person who thought it was his job to protect the world from all evil doers. Allen had seen those attributes exhibited on dozens of occasions, but there were times when Quinn grew weary of the fight and he became that lesser man.

Not his fault. The military hierarchy that he had dedicated his life to wasn’t delivering on their promises. Secrets. Lies. Attacks against their own men. And then there were the lies he’d told under the guise of protecting Quinn.

And now there was 847.

Allen matched Quinn’s posture on the back seat of the car. He laid there in silence listening to the rain. A good ten minutes passed before he found his voice again.

“All my life, I’ve made it a point to learn all I can about a subject before diving in. I’d read everything written on the topic. Talked to everyone I could talk to. Looked at a problem from every angle so when it was time, I could approach it with absolute confidence. That’s how I studied the stars. That’s how I learned to shoot pool. It’s how I can get up in front of a hundred students or a town of frightened civilians and explain complex ideas with absolute clarity. But there are no books on this. I mean, there are biology texts explaining how the physiology works but they don’t answer the questions.”

“Doc,” Quinn said softly. “You can’t learn this from a book. You gotta take the plunge and hope for the best.”

“And if my best isn’t good enough?”

“As long as your heart is in the right place, it will be.”

Allen took that in and grew silent as the sound of the rain on the car roof increased to an almost thunderous level.

When it slowed again, Allen spoke again. “You’ve done this before.”

“Stuck in the mud? Once or twice.”

“You know what I mean.”

Quinn paused then replied evenly, “Once or twice.”

“There’s a big difference between once and twice.”

“Oh yeah, how so?”

“Once is experimental. Accidental. Twice means you liked it and actively chose to do it again.”

Another pause. He heard Quinn shift on the seat. The crunch and squeak of a body against leather. “Two people. Drunk with the first one, so accidental, I guess. Experimental, definitely. The other was not accidental or experimental, but it wasn’t this. It was just. . . “ He fished for the word and as he did Allen guessed in his mind.

Lust. Need. Loneliness.

“Boredom.”

Not even close to what he expected.

“It wasn’t intimate. It was exercise.”

It was Allen’s turn to shift on the bench seat. It was getting cold, so he covered himself with his overcoat and wished for something warmer beside him.

Quinn continued softly speaking from the invisible place on the other side of the large car seat. “I guess that’s why I got a little annoyed when you used that word ‘intercourse’. It sounds so . . .  clinical. Like those biology textbooks you mentioned. This isn’t about what parts go where. This is. . . . “ He faded off at a loss for words. “I never meant to pressure you. Because believe me, I’d rather stop now and still have you to talk to everyday then go too far and drive you away.”

Allen reached out and pressed his hand against the back of the front seat as if he could feel Quinn through the two thicknesses of leather and the network of wire and stuffing in between.

“I’m not going anywhere,” Allen said, barely loud enough to be heard over another round of drum pounding rain.

“Not tonight anyway,” Quinn laughed.

Allen shifted again, tried to roll on to his back but the coat got caught underneath his body and it was a bit of a struggle with clothes sticking to the seat and to each other. He bounced and tugged and rearranged and finally settled and there was Quinn looking at him over the front seat.

He had his arms folded on top, chin on that. A floating head from a silly scifi movie. Allen startled – again.

“I didn’t know I was so scary.”

“Terrifying.” Which was true in a variety of ways. “I’m cold.”

“I can fix that,” Quinn said.

That single sentence in that deep, lethargic voice triggered something in Allen that he couldn’t name. Desire was pretty close. Mixed with ‘urge’ and a little ‘want’.

“That would be nice,” he said, hoping it was clear enough.

“No problem.” Quinn tossed the blanket over the back seat where it fell in heap over Allen’s legs. “That’ll keep you warm.”

 

Quinn had meant the blanket bit as a joke, to lighten the mood that was growing ever darker. But as soon as the blanket landed, he felt Allen’s pain. Who was punishing who now?

So much work.

“Doc.” No, better choice. “Allen. It was a joke.” Quinn hoisted himself up on to the top of the seat and slipped over to the other side. It sounded more graceful in his head than it was in actuality and by the time he got where he was going two bodies, a blanket and a coat were all mixed in the tangle.

“That was easier when I was ten.”

“Everything’s easier when you’re ten,” Allen countered.

Enough already.

Quinn slipped his hand under Allen’s chin and kissed him slightly more than gently.

“848,” said Allen under his breath.

“And the world didn’t come to an end.” Quinn waited for some kind of return response. Nothing. He was going to have to lead the way and hope that the professor would say stop if he crossed a line.

With the carefulness and tenderness you’d need to deal with a skittish colt, Quinn removed Allen’s glasses, folded them and set them on the parcel shelf behind the seat. Now he was free to knot his fingers in Allen’s hair and stroke his thumb over Allen’s cheek bones and while his hands were busy, his lips were too – kissing, dragging, sliding over Allen’s lips, neck, and throat.

Since Quinn was only wearing a t-shirt it was easy for Allen to get his hands on skin. He’d have to work a little harder to reciprocate. Quinn unhooked the buttons of Allen’s shirt while his lips continued their exploratory mission. And for every few he left elsewhere, he made sure to leave one clear and obvious kiss on the mouth forcing Allen to keep adding up the numbers in his mind.

There was comfort in numbers.

With the buttons undone, Quinn stripped off Allen’s shirt and undershirt then pulled off his own t-shirt. They’d gotten this far before, so still in the safe zone.

He pushed the professor to lean back against the seat then straddled his hips. Dangerous territory now because Quinn was only wearing boxers which weren’t much of a barrier.

Head swimming a little, he tried to concentrate on kisses and touches. Down Allen’s chest and over his shoulders. When he leaned in they were skin to skin and finally he felt a reciprocal kiss on his own bare shoulder.

Nice but not normal. The professor was usually a much more active participant in the battle of the lips and hands.

“All good?” He breathed into his partner’s ear.

Allen nodded against him.

“You’re not usually this passive.” Without meaning to, Quinn rolled his hips forward exerting the smallest amount of pressure to a very sensitive area.

“Thinking,” said Allen but at least he followed that with a few butterfly kisses.

“I know that’s kind of a natural state for you, but not thinking would be a better choice right now.” Quinn’s heart rate was rising, breath catching, truly dangerous territory now.

“Move,” said Allen.

For a fraction of a second, Quinn interpreted that to mean ‘move’ as in rub against me but when Allen pushed on his shoulders, he realized that move meant get off. And not THAT kind of get off.

Geez, this was complicated.

Quinn couldn’t prevent the moan that escaped his lips when he fell back on to the seat. Truth be told, he didn’t want to stop the moan. He wanted Allen to know what he was feeling. How this on and off, stop and start was driving him mad.

“Look, I know I said it didn’t matter—” The rest of the sentence was lost in a gasp when Allen’s hand slipped between his legs. This was new. He turned his head to meet his partner’s gaze but only got a glimmer of the Doc’s expression before he leaned in for a kiss.

No more gentle butterflies. This was brutal and raw and hungry and all while Allen’s hand stroked and squeezed and shaped, trying to find the right combination that would elicit another gasp or moan or cry from Quinn’s lips.

He found it and then he found it again.

All Quinn could think of was ‘please don’t stop now’ but the actual words never made it to his lips. He was breathing too fast, heart pounding even faster. Then suddenly there wasn’t even a thin piece of fabric between here and heaven. The warm hand closed around him. Flesh against flesh. He told himself not to pump, to let his partner control the act but his body wasn’t interested in anything his brain had to say right now.

He was painfully hard and this wasn’t going to end well unless it actually ended. Which it did a moment later.

Quinn struggled for a clean breath and struggled to sit up. He flung his hand out with no real path in mind and it landed in Allen’s lap. Allen’s very soft, very uninterested lap.

Shit.

Quinn felt like crying but that would be stupid as crap. 847 finally comes to pass and the doc isn’t the least bit piqued. How was that possible?

Quinn leaned forward, elbows over knees. It was entirely possible if Allen didn’t share his enthusiasm for the act. If Allen was only making good on a promise, not investing in the future of their relationship.

“Doc,” Quinn said wearily, turning sideways on the seat to face the other man. “I appreciate the effort – believe me – I appreciate it. But if your heart isn’t in this, it’s no good.”

Allen shifted sideways as well so they were eye to eye and his eyes were filled with confusion. “I don’t understand. Did I do something wrong? You seemed to be. . . enjoying yourself.”

“I was enjoying the hell out of it, but it looks like I was the only one.” Quinn nodded slightly downward.

Allen actually followed his gaze as if he might find something unexpected in his lap and that made Quinn laugh.

“Not even the tiniest bit aroused?” Quinn complained. “After all that? Clearly, this, us, doesn’t do it for you. So I can’t. . . “ He trailed off unable to say the words that would mean they were done forever.

“Michael.” Allen smiled and ran his hand over Quinn’s stubbled face. “You’ve got it wrong. I am like I am now because I already. . . you know.”

“You already?”

“Embarrassing, really. Pretty much the second I touched you there. . I lost control.”

A deep red flush rose in Allen’s cheeks and Quinn laughed out loud. “How did I miss that?”

“You were otherwise occupied.”

“Yes, I was.” Quinn wrapped his hand around the back of Allen’s neck and held him still for a gentle kiss. He was going in for what he figured had to be kiss 869 when he was jolted out of his skin by the sound of a car horn.

“Jesus Christ!” Quinn scrambled for the blanket which he pulled over his naked self while Allen opened the door and got out of the car.

Another horn toot and then he heard Allen shout, “yes, hello!”

Seriously? Now?

“We’re stuck in the mud,” he called.

Then a man’s voice called back, “I can give you a ride into town. You can get a tow in the morning.”

Quinn groaned. “Tell him to stay in his car! If he comes down here, we’ll have a lot of explaining to do.”

“True,” said Allen, then realizing his own state of undress called back, “Got soaked in the rain. Shirt’s drying. Give us a minute, can you?”

“Of course.” Quinn heard a car door close and assumed it was the good Samaritan getting back behind the wheel.

“Get dressed,” Allen said as he searched for his shirt.

“Why don’t we tell him thanks but we’re good.”

“Because we’re not good. It’s cold and doing all of this on a back seat is giving me a back ache. Just think about doing it all over again but in a nice warm bed this time.”

“I’m convinced. Grab my pants for me, will ya?”

Allen tried over the seat but couldn’t reach and ended up having to get out and go back in through the front. Pants, shirt, shoes, socks and jacket all came flying over the seat at Quinn.

“Hurry up, the man’s doing us a favor and I don’t want to keep him waiting.”

“You kept me waiting for three months,” Quinn grumbled as he dressed.

Allen leaned in close, a quirky grin on his lips. “But I knew you wouldn’t tired of waiting and leave.”

True enough. Allen Hynek had been holding all the cards since kiss number one. But now that 847 was in the rearview mirror, it was time for Quinn to take charge.

1,000 was going to be extra special and it wasn’t going to happen in the back seat of a car.

Quinn was buttoning his shirt when Allen caught him with a quick kiss (just in case prying eyes could see that far in the dark).

“127,” said Allen.

“127?” Quinn repeated.

“Kisses until we reach 1,000. In case you were counting.”

  
The End.


End file.
